Rescue, a poem
“Guilt feels like a weight on my chest,” says the physical therapist. “We are expected to above and beyond our daily work with clients.
We are expected to research, contribute to scholarship, earn grants – all on our own time.
There’s so much more that needs to be done, and I believe everyone, regardless of background, should get the treatment they need.” However, with stakes this high, burnout feels imminent. “On one hand,” she explained, “I am proud to be an expert in a niche field, but on the other hand, I’m made to feel overworked and underappreciated.”
She goes on to explain how many in her field love the work they do, and want to help their client progress, but at what cost? If this passion could translate into a dream job away from physical therapy, the same love would arrive by running a dog rescue where each animal heals and grows at its own pace, where they can roam together or swim alone in peace.
Rescue
Isn’t greatness the ability to give
above and beyond, beyond, and beyond?
Isn’t the work we do the giving,
despite its heaviness,
despite one’s own needs which
sit dense and tight like guilt?
Isn’t that what greatness requires?
Why else am I still going?
It’s as if we’ve been told,
there’s more to greatness than
greatness. As if greatness is
a pill we swallow every day,
and a horizon stretching
wider than it was yesterday, as if
it all keeps expanding because
we believe it to exist, believe its power
with each grant, each patient,
each course taught, each spark
tamed into a light bulb
expected to burn forever.
But what if greatness is
abandon, freedom?
In some imaginary future, picture
wide acres, dogs rescued and newly
un-domesticated running in a pack,
their freedom like Florida dust
settled on their coats, paws callused
and churning in a shallow pool
where each creature howls an
indulgent karaoke to the moon.
How each good dog barks its good
throat into good song, into good peace.
